The Hardest Stretch
by Ms. Violet Marks
Summary: After an altercation at her previous corrections facility, Val is entered into an experimental co-ed program where male and female convicts alike serve their time under the same roof. But will she make it out alive? And what's the deal with this captain anyway? Rated M for possible sexual situations in later chapters. Knauer/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

When you think of prison, nearly the first word that enters your mind is _hell,_ and understandably so. Your freedom is ripped from your clutches whether you're guilty or not, you're forced to share a cell with someone who could very well try to slit your throat with a homemade shiv in your sleep, and you're fed 'food' that even Oliver Twist would have passed up the first time around, never mind seconds. And that's just a normal prison. I've been incarcerated in that kind-three different ones, in fact-and my stays weren't as bad as they could have possibly been. But the prison I'm currently on my way to, along with nearly forty other inmates, is the Allenville Penitentiary in good ole Texas.

Perhaps I should mention that I despise the heat. The prison I've only just said goodbye to is the New Hampshire State Prison, a stretch I was not so bitter about doing considering the geographical placement sat well with me. But my cellmate, who was so for all of five minutes, decided that they wanted the bottom bunk. Considering I had called that particular cell my home for God knows how long, I felt that newbie had absolutely no right to lay claim on it. It's a shame, more for myself than anyone else, that I was the only one that saw it this way. A broken nose, fractured jaw, and many breaks and cuts later had my ass set for transfer, stitches and all. And now here I was.

As I looked around the bus at the convicts around me, some chatting with others while a few spat out their threats, I realized that I officially hated the U.S. government. Who in their right mind would pass a coed prison? A maximum security coed prison of all things. Now, I'm not complaining, as I've found it gets me absolutely nowhere and on occasion makes things worse, but mixing genders in a felonious world really is not a smart move. Apparently some dick with government pull had seen it work wonders in a few juvenile facilities across the States and decided it would be a good idea to try it with murderers and rapists to introduce more luxuries, to imitate the outside world, and attempt to 'tame the prisoners'. Yeah, fucking brilliant idea. Putting us women into their prison-and they would make sure we knew it was _theirs-_would do nothing but add fuel to their already searing fire. If the correctional facility was having problems now, it was only a matter of time before they found out what true chaos was. If it wasn't so sad and infuriating at the same time, it would have been rather funny.

Some of the women being hauled to this place were so loud-mouthed they were bound to get their asses handed to them within days of arrival. Others were so docile they were guaranteed to be passed around like nothing more than a piece of meat. The situation quite literally is like throwing us into a lion-infested coliseum with no sword, no shield, and no chance. Personally, I had learned not to talk shit and not to inject myself into business that doesn't concern me, so I didn't really think I would have too many problems on the surface. These men haven't seen women in quite awhile, though, or at least that's what the guards at the front of the bus decided to say with a snicker when I first boarded. Assholes. All I could do was keep my mouth shut and frown at the thirty-seven stitches running down my arm from the last scuffle I had. And that was with a 119 pound woman. I could only imagine, although I didn't want to, what kind of shit I was going to be subjected to once I arrived.

And I was about to. Up ahead in the distance, I could see the prison looking nothing like the facilities I had previously been to. Physically, it reminded me of what Alcatraz might look like without all of those years of restoration, looking uninhabitable and rundown. Because of the surroundings, the desert, I let myself believe, in a glimmer of hope, that it was only a mirage. But from where I sat, alone at the very front of the bus, the guard beyond the iron mesh took notice of the look on my face and he smiled a sinister smile. It was no mirage. It was very real, and it was my new home.

† † †

I had to grind my teeth when I stepped off the bus. It hadn't been air conditioned, which had never been an expectation, so I had felt the heat, but stepping onto that soil with nothing between the sun and I but the hair atop my head nearly made me faint. For one brief moment, I wondered how the hell I was going to survive the atmosphere, never mind my new 'family'. But my thoughts were cut short when several guards advanced toward us, led by a man in a cowboy hat. Some of the ladies behind me snickered, but I kept my mouth shut and my face as stoic as possible, even when a few of them decided to whistle and say 'yeehaw'. Besides, I was a native southerner so I didn't find it quite as amusing as they did. Their outbursts, however, did not go unnoticed by the guards, nor did they go unnoticed by the man in the hat. His face was unsettlingly unreadable.

After the guards' introductions, our names were called in a roll-call fashion and since mine didn't come until near the end, I had a moment to take in my surroundings. All around was desert, a horribly depressing sight, especially for anyone who had been considering an escape. I had to suppress the rolling of my eyes and the grin on my face when I remembered one of the more seasoned women bragging, guaranteeing that she would be able to devise an escape plan within her first week here. Sure, she may be able to escape, but where to? There was nothing but dehydration and skin cancer awaiting anyone who dared challenge the flatlands around this place.

I was snapped back into reality by the harsh shout of Captain Knauer. Apparently, I hadn't heard my name being called, the first, second, or third time, and he spied me not paying attention, my eyes far away staring at the neutral colors around me. I couldn't see much of his face beneath that hat and behind those dark shades, but I was certain his eyes said he wouldn't put up with any shit, especially in front of all of his new charges. As for the rest of the degenerates he oversaw, they were watching us through the fence in disbelief, undoubtedly because we weren't men. I had been told that our gender would warrant us absolutely no privileges, save being celled with another woman, and that was made absolutely clear right then and there.

I stepped forward and filed in line behind the women who had already been accounted for, not daring to look any of the guards in the eye. I'd heard stories that the farther south you go, the less likely you were to have an eyewitness, whether someone had actually seen your beating or not. I'm not totally sure why this is, but I'm sure they banded together, all of these country boys, and wouldn't think twice about beating me bloody for looking at them wrong whether I meant to or not.

One of the guards, one whose name I hadn't caught when it had been given, tripped me in my haste to rectify my absentmindedness, causing me not only to trip and fall into the woman in front of me, but also to fall on my forearm. During my tumble, I felt a pain in my arm, but considering I'd injured it only three days prior, I didn't think twice about it. Painfully, I held my tongue and tightened my jaw as I got to my feet, still refusing to look the guard in the eye, even as he towered over me and told me quite crudely to watch where I was going. Everything's bigger in Texas? If this enormous Neanderthal was anything to go by, I guess so.

A few minutes later, when we all had been accounted for and were walking single-file to our new lives, my eyes spied something I'd missed moments before. The bandage wrapped around my limb was slowly soaking through with my blood, and I could only assume that the fall had ripped my stitches open. Great. I wasn't particularly sure speaking up and consequently whining about it was the best option, so I let it go. Eventually, one of the guards would notice it anyway and probably bitch at me for bleeding all over the place.

There were several of us newest additions that the warden wanted to see personally. This is how I found myself sitting quietly in a corridor outside his office with five other women and three of the guards. The captain had been ordered into the warden's office when the first woman had been summoned. We were told to wait in silence and maintain order which we all did. A blonde with a missing incisor and leathery, sun-ravaged skin was nervously tapping her foot, something that the guards told her to cease. She complied, only to be told to stop chewing her nails moments later. Truly, I could understand why there was a significant amount of nervousness involved, but it only made it worse letting it be known, especially to the guards. Perhaps I was the only one who knew that.

I was the last to be called upon, the other women having already been escorted to their cells by the guards. I tried to keep a straight face when I walked in to see the warden and the captain but I could feel my brow furrowing against my will. Whether it was from worry or intimidation or something completely different, I wasn't sure. The warden, with a warm, albeit phony smile on his face, requested that I take a seat across from him at his desk and I did so, trying in vain to hide my arm from his sight.

Captain Knauer hauled me up to me feet in the instant that I sat, his grip against my upper arm rather uncomfortable, even more so because I could have stood of my own volition had he only asked me to. The way he held my arm up for the warden to see and the disapproving look on his face made me think he had come to the conclusion that I had injured myself to go to the infirmary, to get out of the first day of orientation. I wasn't about to tell him that his dickhead fellow guard had been the cause behind it. It simply wasn't wise to make hardcore enemies in my first day.

"Ms. Thorpe, you mind telling me what happened?" the warden asked, pointing to my arm. His tone was soft, though his concern was not for me but rather for his own safety, I reckon. Nevertheless, he had yet to be a dick, so I felt nothing good would come from being nasty, especially aimed toward him or one of his men.

"I fell, sir," I responded plainly, looking the man straight in the eye with not even a hint of defiance in my own. I had to admit, though, with the loss of blood I was currently dealing with and the captain's iron-clasp around my bicep, my fingers were beginning to tingle.

"You fell?" He seemed almost skeptical, causing me to nod mutely before he put on a pair of reading glasses and began to flip through my file. Meanwhile, I was still at the captain's mercy, wiggling my fingers and trying to will some more feeling into them. Apparently he had seen this and his grip loosened, but he didn't drop me all together. When the warden finally found what he was looking for, his eyebrow raised.

"Says here you got into a tussle with your cellmate. Far cry from a fall."

"No, sir-."

"You wouldn't be saying I'm wrong, would you?"

Damn it. I did not like where this was going. I didn't appreciate being manhandled and I didn't appreciate being cut off when I was speaking, but I held it in. I have a short fuse, an incredibly short one, but the last place I needed it to detonate was on my first day here in front of a man who was sure to give me hell for my entire stay and another man who could order him to inflict that hell.

"No, sir. Not at all," I replied compliantly, fighting down my agitation.

Seemingly in love with this answer and also high from the fact that he had misconstrued my words to make me look like an ass, he went back to my file. Flipping through the rather thick pile of papers, he looked to have little interest in what he was reading until he found the goldmine. He waved his hand dismissively and Knauer finally released me, leaving me free to sit cautiously on the edge of the seat, fighting the urge to rub the feeling back into my arm.

"You know, this file here mentions quite a bit about you prior to turning into a criminal," he said theatrically. "I know you wouldn't mind filling me in on why a pretty, young lady like yourself made such a rapid turn from college scholarships to making lunch runs for the mob." It wasn't a question and I knew damn well I had better answer him. The fact that he deliberately called me a tool was not lost on me, either.

"It was the family business, sir. I fell into it unexpectedly."

"Just like you fell and hurt yourself," he said with a snaky smile. What I wouldn't give to slap it off of his face. "Ms. Thorpe, you might find your behavior at other correctional facilities got you little more than a warning, but here we won't tolerate it." Clearly he had seen the many reports of my past 'incidents' in that file. "You screw up, you suffer the consequences, no exceptions. You break the rules, even once, and I'll find the worst job imaginable to keep you busy. You understand me?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, Captain Knauer will see you to the infirmary. After that, you'll settle into your cell. I advise you get as much rest as possible because we rise early down here in Texas and we work hard."

Trying my best to ignore the gratification he got from watching me fight not to squirm or lash out, I was led to the door by Captain Knauer. Thankfully, this time I was free of his clutches. Just before I exited the office, I heard the warden welcome me to Allenville with a cheerfulness that was purely fronted for anyone who may have overheard him now that the door was open. I scoffed unwillingly. It was only faintly, but Knauer heard it and despite being hidden by those massive shades, I could tell his eyes were boring into me as his head turned in my direction.

The one thing I realized would take some getting used to was being around so many people who were the equivalent of giants. The guard who had tripped me, although I hadn't really looked much at him, had been a mass of a human; I could tell by how distant his voice sounded as he stood over me, like he was so far up in the air that it took away from the volume of his deep voice. The others I had seen earlier in the hallway were also quite large. Knauer was not so big, but he was neither small. And for the first time, I realized something that should have come to mind long before this; my size was most definitely going to be against me.

I wasn't terribly small, but I was nowhere near big enough to thwart being threatened by Knauer, the asshole who had tripped me, and probably every other man here, especially the guards. After all, they had access to guns and those lovely nightsticks they seemed all too fond of.

As I silently padded next to Knauer, I wondered what was running through the mind of the other women. Surely, they were already settled in their cells but that only meant they would be left alone to their thoughts. I'm sure they were all riddled with anxiety, and I was just the same. When I laid my head down later on, then I could try to let the tension ease from my body, but the long corridor I was walking down coupled with the silence of the man next to me unnerved me. It was such a frivolous thing, really, so I have no idea why it nagged at me, but it did. Maybe it was Captain Knauer; he was so… imposing.

While getting taken care of in the infirmary, I realized the reason for my earlier discomfort. The fact that I had not seen Knauer's eyes bugged the hell out of me. He hadn't said a word since bringing me to the nurse currently rewrapping my arm and he hadn't moved from where he stood by the door, but he was facing my general direction. Just the possibility that he could have been staring at nothing but me for the past fifteen minutes gave me the chills. I got over this quickly though as the nurse, a genuinely friendly woman, had released me. The bloodied bandage she had removed from my arm really made things look worse than they truly were. Sure, I had lost blood enough to look as if I had snagged an artery, but it wasn't enough to matter too greatly. I'd only pulled five stitches - it could have been worse.

After Knauer and I left the infirmary, on the way to my cell, we made a few stops. Before anything else could happen, I was taken to a small room for a body search. There were two other guards there, men I hadn't seen before, and one of them already had bright blue gloves on, ready for the cavity searching to begin. I'd had my fair share of these by this point, so I knew it was fruitless to try to get out of it. Without being prompted, I took my hair down, placing the hair tie on my wrist, and removed my clothes until I was standing before them naked. Knauer, the 'gentleman' that he was, waited outside.

I gritted my teeth and thought happy thoughts during the whole thing. I expected the man checking me to go straight for the goods like a pig, but he was actually quite respectful. After he'd ensured that I had nothing hiding in my mouth, nose, ears, and hair, I was instructed to put my hands on my head as his hands made their descent down my body. No matter how respectful he was, though, one never does get used to being violated in such a manner. I was damn glad when it was over and I was issued my new uniform.

Nothing too eventful happened after that - after being recuffed, Knauer took me to get my bedding, the last stop before my final destination. When we finally arrived at my cell, my new cellmate had already taken the bottom bunk, but I chose not to make a big deal about it. I'd seen her on the bus, a shorthaired brunette, and she was as equally quiet as myself. Giving her a hassle would have been unnecessary and a waste of energy. Besides, I'd rather be on good terms with her than bad, seeing as how I was going to be spending a lot of time with her in the future.

Truthfully, when Captain Knauer undid the cuffs binding my wrists and left me alone with my cellmate, I felt relief. Once again, he had chosen not to speak to me, not bothering to point out certain things as we passed them like the mess hall and showers and courtyard and so forth. He was probably like any other guard and thought that he was better than me, that I was a piece of trash and was doing nothing but littering the earth with my presence. I really don't think I could fault him too much in that area. But as he retreated down the corridor, without a word spoken, I felt a tension lift from me that I hadn't realized was so thick before. That man unnerved me.

We were ordered to wait until the start of the next day to really come out of our shells, so to speak. All of the women's cells were grouped together at the beginning of one of the corridors, all on the second floor of the block, easily in view of the guards when they did their patrolling. Easily in view, also, of the male inmates who passed by our cells. One of the women put up a fuss about it, citing our privacy as a basis for concern. Her request to be moved went unheard. No surprise there.

You would think that in a prison run by those with a brain, that we women would be placed in a protective custody wing. At all of the prisons I had been to previously, said sections were always available to those who needed them, former cops and child killers being amongst these people. But it hadn't been mentioned here and I had a sneaking suspicion that it didn't exist. Then again, this was the first prison I had ever witnessed that was so desolate, unorthodox, and dated. Usually prisons were surrounded by heaps of precaution. Electric fencing, impossible to climb walls, numerous guard towers, dozens of armed guards, dogs, layers upon layers of razor wire - these were things I had always seen in the prisons I had been in. But so far, I had seen only a few of these things here. Of course, the guards that I had seen outside patrolling when I first arrived seemed to have quite a bond with their rifles, so I have no doubt that they would use them the first chance they got. In fact, I was willing to bet they wished some trouble would arise just so they could.

The only reason I could think that this particular facility lacked so many of the more modern things was because of its location. Usually prisons were in much less rural areas, surrounded by trees and such, so if an escape was made beyond the borders, escape was almost inevitable. But here, if you did make it over the wall, they'd be able to see you, and not long after, you would undoubtedly have bullets imbedded in your body. But if you were fool enough to try your escape, then you deserved it. And if you could pull it off, then you personally would have my respect. That being said, I'm pretty certain that _The Shawshank Redemption_ was a work of fiction. So whoever it was I had previously heard plotting their escape might want to take that into account.

By the time I'd gotten settled in, the light at the end of the corridor, shining through a small, high, barred window, had ceased to reflect on the tiled ground. It was undoubtedly evening, and since we weren't allowed to have jewelry, I had no idea what hour it was. We had been on that horrible bus for far too long, first starting out at nine in the morning, so it could be any time of the day or night. The next day would likely hold many obstacles and uncertainties, so all I could do was stare at the ceiling while I listened to my cellmate breathe. I thought she was asleep, but awhile later, she spoke up, her voice oddly small, almost as if she were afraid.

"What are you in for?" she questioned timidly, her voice not much louder than hushed.

It took me a moment to answer. I wasn't sure if she was someone I wanted to converse with, especially about my personal business, but I figured if I ignored her and she had somehow known I was awake, there might be a bit of tension between she and I. The last thing I wanted was that kind of heaviness between myself and a woman who had access to me while I slept.

"Murder." I was almost surprised at how strained the word came out. Perhaps it was from the lack of vocalization for most of the day, or the fact that I was lying on my back, or maybe even because of my emotional guilt. Either way, it sounded strange to my ears. "You?"

"Same. My husband. What about you?"

I scoffed cynically and in a tone more monotonous than I had intended, in a voice I was sure wasn't my own, I replied, "Lots of people."

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and favorites are appreciated! :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

I was 14 when my mother married my stepfather. I didn't like him initially because with the wedding came relocation from a rural south to a much too busy place in the north for my liking. New York was a place for models and actors and tourists, not young girls who would rather hunt a deer than hunt a person. And that's just what I was lured into doing.

It was uncanny, really. My stepfather, Drago, was a native New Yorker. Every bit the seedy cliché, he was Italian, and his family business was very much unsavory. And him wedding my mother, well, that meant I got to be a part of the family business whether I liked it or not.

A car accident is how I got roped into this prison mess in the first place.

We were vacationing in the Hamptons over New Years where Drago had this disgustingly fancy mansion when I was 16, along with my younger sister, Delilah. Only a few days into our stay had Delilah and I bored out of our minds, especially since my mother, Victoria, and Drago had left for the night for some party that wouldn't have interested me even if there wasn't a strict 'no children' policy.

Delilah and I decided to watch a movie, some foreign anime that she picked. Halfway through, we ditched the movie and ordered takeout, and settled on Chinese. That girl had an unnaturally ravenous appetite where spring rolls were concerned. It was alarming, really.

The first sign that the night was going to bring trouble was when I realized that the only cars in the garage were cars that cost more than my life insurance. Amongst them was Drago's 1965 Cobra, the only one I had driven before (under his supervision, of course) and felt the least uncomfortable about driving again. Drago wasn't really a minivan kind of guy. And since there were several New Years parties happening around the block, there was no way a delivery guy could get it to us while it was still hot. But, Delilah was getting cranky, I was young and stupid, and the Cobra was very eye-catching. Besides, the plan was to get there, get the food, and get back before Drago ever even knew we had gone. Problem was, things didn't happen this way.

When I called in our order, I mentioned Delilah's shellfish allergy twice. They assured me, in their broken English, that this wouldn't be a problem. But, as my shit luck would have it, this turned out not to be the case.

Halfway back home, Delilah had gotten into the bag, unbeknownst to me. If I'd known, I would have lost my shit because the last thing I needed was sweet and sour sauce all over the Cobra's upholstery. I only noticed something was wrong when she began wheezing. I tried to stay calm, reassuring her it was going to be alright, but as I dug through my purse to find her emergency shot, I lost control of the car.

When I came to, I was in the hospital. It felt like I woke up in a completely different era, but it turns out it was only two hours after the fact. Standing around me was Drago, furious beyond comprehension, and Victoria, wincing every time Drago cursed under his breath. There was a sympathetic look on her face, but I knew she would side with her husband regardless of what he had to say.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I looked around to find Delilah nowhere in sight. Victoria noticed I was looking for her and told me not to worry, that she was alright. I, on the other hand, had suffered a cervical fracture and a broken collarbone, but aside from that, I was fine.

The cops came in soon after, causing Drago to physically blanch. At this point, I had learned well what it was that he did and he glared at me, silently threatening me if I said or did anything that would endanger him or his 'colleagues'. In the end, I kept my mouth shut, only answering questions that were referring to the accident, saying nothing more. Personally, I thought it went well. At least until they administered a breathalyzer test. Apparently, an eyewitness had seen me swerving, and she was right, I had been, so there was suspicion that I was drunk. I nearly died when the test showed I had been intoxicated, especially since I very much was not.

My mother and Drago left soon after, highly disappointed in me and absolutely livid. During the night, the police returned only to deliver the news that the other driver involved in the accident had died in surgery. I hadn't been aware before that point that there even was another driver involved and I cried myself to sleep.

Four weeks later, I was due in court. Considering I was fucked via breathalyzer, I was charged with a DUI manslaughter, only made worse by the fact that my passenger had been a child. My lawyer had told me that there were numerous ways a breathalyzer could go wrong, none of which I could do much about, and that the only way to truly determine whether or not I was intoxicated were to do blood tests. But by that point, this wasn't an option. And so the judge believed me to be a recklessly driving drunk.

I'm not sure how it had happened, but Drago got me off. The tables turned dramatically by the end of all of my courthouse drama and even Drago himself seemed to have turned the corner. He was no longer looking at me as if I were some screw-up or like he personally wanted to have me assassinated for demolishing his car or tarnishing his name. I was relieved at first, especially since I got off with only community service, but the day I found out why his behavior had changed so drastically, I would have gladly done time instead.

Delilah and I had gone down to the beach and I was watching her play in the sand, trying in vain to make herself into a sand mermaid. Drago came down to join me in the water, the silence between us quite tense. With a smile I knew was forced, he explained that the favor he had granted me was not without a price. Little did I know that I would spend the next six years of my life trying to make it up to him.

Whatever he told me to do, no matter how dirty or how immoral, I did it. I found out soon, though, that his reputation of cruelty was nothing short of the absolute truth. The man disgusted me.

All I remember were nine hostages, potential witnesses. Drago said they had to be dealt with and the person to do it was me. I simply couldn't. Innocent people were _much_ different than slimy criminals who tried to stiff my stepfather and up until that point, I'd never shot someone, having only ever used a gun to threaten. In the end, he threatened my sister's life if I refused to do it.

And now I'm here, serving a sentence that is unnaturally long, for the cold-blooded murders of those nine people. I don't remember ever pulling the trigger a single time, I don't remember them dying, and I don't remember what I did that compelled Drago to testify against me in court. But it doesn't matter. I'm here now, my trial has long since been over, and this prison life is the only life I'll have for as long as I live.

† † †

No one really was sure what to expect upon rising. The guards made sure they knew we would receive no special treatment, that we would be regarded as the scum we were, just like the men already incarcerated here. So, of course, it wasn't going to be pretty. No one had gone over arrangements such as showering facilities and dining, but I was sure that the latter would be done with everyone else. Really, though, it wouldn't surprise me if they forced us to shower with the men. Hardly anything surprised me anymore. Being betrayed by the people you love and trust can do that to a person, I suppose.

I woke before the horn sounded, before our cells were opened, and before our day started. I could hear my cellmate snoring softly, so I knew she was still asleep. Feeling restless, I carefully and quietly jumped down from my bunk quietly so I didn't wake my cellmate, Maxine, and began stretching the stiffness out of my body. Prison beds were never forgiving, never comfortable. But I had found, after two weeks during my first prison experience, that the yoga my mother had been so fond of was quite helpful. So, in the mornings, I made it a habit.

The horn blew not long after I began and we were ordered to rise, dress, and step out into the corridor to go to breakfast. The moment we took that step, though, there was an uproar. The word had spread that there were women here now, but I'm not so sure that everyone believed it. So when we all stepped out into view, there was whistling, cat calls, laughter, and many, many stares, the kind that makes your skin crawl. Eventually, the guards had to silence them with their dynamic shouts and threats with weapons, both lethal and non. But the stares persisted.

Maxine looked nervous standing next to me on my right, and to my left were nothing but men. The one directly next to me simply looked at me as if I were any other broad, but the others were ogling me and the other women far too intensely. Then again, who needed subtlety when these men could take what they wanted when they wanted? It wasn't as if a courtship had to take place to acquire what they desired. This was prison, for crying out loud. And while the guards were here to keep the peace, I'd been in prison long enough now to know that in the grand scheme of things, they didn't give a shit about anyone that could be identified by a number. Rapes tended to get 'overlooked'.

When we began walking toward the mess hall in single file lines, I saw several of the men harassing the girls across the way on the other side of the cell block, verbally and physically. As the two lines merged together on the staircase, someone grabbed my ass. Now, considering I have never been a morning person, even with the best course of yoga and the softest of beds, my reaction was automatic, my mind not having any time to think about the consequences. I wheeled around and punched at the man behind me, the same man who had seemed unimpressed by me just moments ago. Problem was, I misinterpreted his height and hit him in the throat as opposed to the face. The other problem was, it was not he who hit me back. When another man hit me in the face, probably softer than he was capable of, the one I had struck hit him, and then another hit him, all the while, the same one was trying to strike me again. Several went tumbling down the stairs, myself included, and many of the women I fell on top of had tempers of their own. Soon, there were many fighting one another, men against women and women against men, and when the guards intervened, they too were joining in, beating us senseless with their nightsticks.

After the party was broken up, we were questioned about who was at fault. None of the inmates took responsibility, especially the man who _had_ started it all, whoever he had been. Neither did they out me. But when the entire second floor was threatened to especially hard labor and all recreational privileges taken away from them for a month if the culprit was not given up, I let it be known that it had been me, lest I be beaten hundreds of times by every convict on the second floor. I told the guards that someone had made a sexual remark to me and I wasn't too fond of it, so I went in swinging. It was smart to take full blame and not implicate anyone else if I wanted to keep my legs unbroken. They seemed to buy it.

But I couldn't find any words of redemption as I found myself being hauled by Captain Knauer and Sergeant Engleheart, the man who had tripped me the day before, down a vacant corridor. When we turned a corner, it was only myself and the Captain. I had absolutely no idea where I was being taken, and the hallway looked to be vacant and rundown, as if we were in a part of the prison that was no longer in use. Several steps down the way, Knauer swung me against the wall by my arm. When I felt my head hit against the cold stone, I let out a wince that I tried very hard to hold back. Suddenly, I begin questioning my intelligence, or more specifically my lack of it. I could have been eating breakfast instead of this shit.

Knauer didn't even speak before he hit me. He didn't use that coveted nightstick, only his hand, but when I spied the wedding band on his finger, I realized that was why it had hurt so much more than it should have. Apparently the angry captain, who looked less than thrilled with me, thought I would just stand there pressed against the wall and take his abuse. But that was before I punched him in the jaw. And I honestly don't know why the fuck I couldn't have just stood there compliantly and absorbed the pain because everything got worse from there.

When I struck him, he didn't stagger or let out any sort of sound that would tell me I had hurt him. He retaliated quickly, though, almost as if it were a reflex, and although he didn't hit me like he first had, that hand that had previously grasped my arm was now around my neck with a fury, pinning me to the wall. It was only a modest amount of pressure he applied, but it was enough that he could undoubtedly feel my pulse racing beneath his fingers. And it was enough for me to know that if he wanted to, he could make it so that I never breathed again.

After a long, silent moment of him staring down at me, as if he were trying to either decipher what he saw in my eyes or convey to me a silent warning of some sort through the darkness of his shades, he spoke. And when he did so, his grip tightened, as if speaking aloud somehow angered him further. I knew it would be wise to just shut up and listen.

"You know, when I first saw you, I didn't think you'd be much trouble, but I was obviously wrong," Knauer said. "Your ass belongs to me now, so you keep causing trouble, and I'm going to keep on punishing you. And it'll only get worse each time, I can promise you that. You're on my shit list now, little girl, so take care."

With force, he pushed hard against my neck and released me. My hands automatically went up to my neck to survey the damage, so to speak. He was looking down at me waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to defy and be volatile, but I wasn't about to grant his next strike a reason. When he hit me again, his fist collided with my cheekbone and that ring bit into my skin; I knew it would not look pretty in a day's time.

Since he hit me without cause, I felt I had the right to speak. Well, more like mutter.

"Prick," I said under my breath as he went to walk away, my voice sounding as if I had whooshed it out with a sigh.

"What'd you say?" he asked whilst backtracking, knowing well that he heard me. All he wanted was for me to repeat it so he could hit me again. And all I wanted was some fucking breakfast. I didn't know what I had to do to get this asshole off my back and my ass off his shitlist, but if it meant degrading myself and groveling at his feet, then I was more than willing to pay the price of punishment. I was determined now to turn into a coward.

"I said you're an inhumane prick," I reiterated clearly and concisely, throwing in a few more words for good measure. Surprisingly, he didn't strike me, even if he knew Engleheart had heard me around the corner. Instead, he laughed. It was a fake, dark laugh, but a laugh, none the less.

"Make no mistake about it; I will drop you without a second thought, so if that makes me inhumane, then yeah, I guess I am."

It was my turn to laugh, even if I subconsciously told myself not to, but it came out as more of a sneer. "You have nothing to justify beating me. That's what makes you inhumane."

With those words came another hit, but this time, only a backhand. Still, it was on that same cheek and it stung like fire. "Your file gives me reason, you fuckin' bitch."

And now it seemed time for him to hit me with that dreaded stick. In my side, right atop my bottom few ribs, he struck me with lightning speed. I have no idea how he maneuvered it around my arm and missed my bum limb, but he did, and I fell to my knees, the wind having been knocked out of me. The pain was quite excruciating and I defensively wound my arms around me in an attempt to thwart any more of his blows, but no more came. All that did come was his voice, telling me to stand up.

When I didn't do as he said, his hand gripped my jaw, sore from absorbing his first blow, and he forced me into looking up at him. I still couldn't see his eyes because his glasses were on, but I knew he was scowling down at me, probably memorizing what he thought to be the scummy features of my face. He didn't reiterate his command, but instead increased the force of his grip and pulled up on me, forcing me to stand. Kicking him in the groin was only an option for about half a second, but I decided against it as Engleheart was surely still only a few feet away. All it would do is piss Knauer off and he and the sergeant would undoubtedly have a field day with my body and all the ways they could make it bleed and bruise.

He stood uncomfortably close to me, my chest scantly touching his and with a slow motion, he removed his glasses. Personally, I thought my legs were going to buckle. I'm a huge sucker for eyes; I believe, as cheesy and overplayed as it sounds, that they're indeed the window to the soul. Not that I could ever particularly tell what was in one's soul just by looking in their eyes, especially this miserable jackass', otherwise I never would have been backstabbed in the first place. But Knauer's eyes were quite beautiful, to the point that I was rendered both speechless and immobile. There was an intensity behind them that had me entranced.

When my breath caught, ever so slightly, he noticed. His eyebrows knitted slightly before he hardened his face again, either ignoring what he saw or storing it for later use to benefit himself. I told myself that if he did, I wouldn't let him use this against me whenever that time came. I was rather good at hiding things from anyone else, why should the captain be any different?

"Despite what the warden said, he thinks we really should go a little easier on you ladies when you misbehave. But no matter what the warden thinks, I'm the one who runs this prison, and I say you're nothing but trash just like the rest of the scum in here. Consider this your first and only warning from me. Next time you cause a brawl or lay a finger on any C.O. in this facility," he waved his hand around over his shoulder, "I'll throw you in the hotbox."

His words were neither hot nor cold, not an uneven tone to them, and I was relieved to let myself think that he was done with me. And he was. But the drawn out moment of silence between us before he walked away had our eyes locked. Mine were on the brink of watering, not because I felt as if I were going to cry, but because the situation was extremely overwhelming, staggering, in that one instance. And the thought that I let my mind run away with when I realized that he smelled too damn good to be standing so damn close did not help matters.

When he broke our eye contact, I let out a breath I had subconsciously been holding, only to inhale sharply, albeit silently, when I thought I felt his hand brush against my hipbone. I couldn't tell if I had imagined it or not, and I tried to rationalize that it was only because I'd been locked up so long that the possibility had ever even come to me, but as I watched the captain turn the corner, I knew I would never truly know for sure.

I stood there against the wall in a sort of haze, gently rubbing my face as if that would somehow take the pain away, all the while staring in the direction Knauer had gone. I was sure Engleheart was still near and would round the corner at any moment to yank me by my hair to another location, but all that came was a shout from Knauer from down the hall to hurry my ass. I jumped slightly and quickly followed him, not particularly desiring to suffer any more of his arsenal today.

† † †

I have no idea what went down after I was escorted away from that little prison fight. But when I arrived at the cafeteria, there seemed to be order within the place and nearly everyone who looked up from their food stared at me, men and women alike. Most of the women were sitting at the same table, but there were some that were littered amongst the large groups of men, and men littered amongst the women. I saw Maxine motion me over to a table comprised of entirely women and after I timidly got my food, receiving many dirty looks from the men serving me, I joined her.

The second I sat down, the questions came flying at me. What happened, what I had done, why I had done it, if I had received punishment, etc. I answered them with the shortest responses possible, keenly aware of the officers patrolling and walking around the mess hall. The last thing I needed was one of them overhearing me and telling Knauer something that would potentially set him off.

After the initial excitement died down amongst the women around me, I could still see many staring at me, a certain group of men in particular. The one I had punched was amongst this group and while everyone around him was talking, whispering, and pointing in all of their subtlety, he was only chewing and staring at me. I wasn't sure what to make of him, but I definitely deserved anything I got from him. Quickly, I broke eye contact and began fiddling with my food and talking with Maxine.

"You're bleeding," the woman across from me said, pointing at my left cheek with her fork as she chewed a mouthful of corn. My fingers moved of their own volition as they tenderly touched the area she had indicated. It was painful to the touch and I knew when I saw the blood on my fingertips that that fucking wedding ring had done more damage than I originally thought. Silently, I cursed Captain Knauer.

"Is it swelling?" I asked, hoping she would say no.

"A little. It's bruising pretty fast."

Maxine seemed to be the only person who realized that I hadn't mentioned being injured. But she wasn't dumb and she voiced aloud her thoughts without restraint.

"They hit you." Truth seemed to dawn on those within earshot, albeit some rather slowly.

"They're assholes. What do you expect? If it's not them, it's the cons." Considering Knauer was far too in love with his nightstick and Engleheart liked to throw his weight around, or at least so far that I could tell, I was willing to take my chances with the cons. Only problem was, the con still staring at me clearly had reason to utilize his posse and jump me. Damn. Not two days in this place and I had enemies on both sides.

† † †

Since us women hadn't been granted our jobs yet, I was graciously accepting the fact that I wouldn't have to do any labor until that point in time came. It could only last an hour for all I knew, the guards could come find me at any time and issue me my new occupation, so I was relishing the freedom while it lasted. I found myself outside where there was not a single woman in my sight. The men that saw me, guard and inmate alike, looked up from whatever sport they were playing or whatever exercise equipment they were using; they all gave me glares that clearly stated I was a fool for being there alone. But I was intent on not going back inside lest they believe I did it out of fear. Cowering wasn't an option, even if the man I had struck earlier was watching me from the basketball court like a hawk.

When I got over the initial unease of feeling like I was out there alone despite being surrounded by so many, I began looking around, beyond the prison's fences. I suppose in my state of brooding on the bus I had missed the sight of mountains all around this place. It added a hint of beauty to the contrast of the desert, surprisingly. I noticed that circling the compound along the inner fence was a trail, one I guessed was used for walking or running, and although I felt compelled to run it, if for no other reason than to escape the many sets of eyes, I decided not to. With my luck, and I seemed to have an endless supply of it, the guards would chase after me or shoot me… or both. So, I just sat with my legs crossed on the ground, looking at the scenery outside of the prison's perimeter.

From behind me, I heard footsteps. I tensed slightly, but I forced myself to keep my composure. It occurred to me that whoever it was might be a potential attacker, but I kept my eyes glued to the fence. Besides, I was out in the open, so if I did get jumped, the guards would at least break it up before too much happened. Hopefully.

"It's not smart coming out here alone," a deep voice said to me. It wasn't one that I had heard before, but then again, the few male voices I had heard were only the warden's and Knauer's. Still, I didn't turn to see who it was.

"Come to protect me, have you?" I asked sarcastically.

"Nah. Come to set things straight."

I had the sneaking suspicion that the man's answer was a threat disguised as civilized conversation. Unable to help myself, I looked up over my shoulder into the very eyes of the man I had struck just that morning. Now I knew it was a threat.

Slowly, I got to my feet and faced him, idly brushing the dirt off of me as I stood. Despite not showing it, I was painfully aware of just how fucked I was, especially when I noticed that his buddies on the basketball court were watching us intently. If he decided to use his numbers, I was a goner. They outnumbered me, they were all very much bigger than me, and looking beyond the man and into the distance showed me that the guards weren't paying much attention. They could pulverize me before the guards ever even got their asses in gear. Still, I was not about to back down. I'd rather end up in the infirmary than become someone's bitch. So, I looked the man square in the eye and spoke, as defiantly as possible, I might add.

"If you came all the way over here for my apology, you're wasting your time."

"I came out here to tell you if you pull that same shit with Vasquez, you're gonna end up dead."

I had no idea what he was talking about. Who Vasquez was and why he thought I cared were both unknown. He took a few steps to some nearby rundown bleachers and took a seat as if I had invited him to spend the day with me, as if we were friends who wished to catch up and chat until the sun went down. I watched him with my arms crossed tightly over my chest, confusion and suspicion more evident on my face than a convenient store clerk's the moment a bunch of hoodie-wearing teenage thugs started raiding the aisles.

"He was the one you should have punched," he clarified.

I'm sure that if I had been looking in a mirror when my face fell, it would have been priceless. By his words, he told me that I had hit the wrong person, and I assumed that he had not been the one who had grabbed me. I'm sure the color probably fled from my face and that I looked like I was going to vomit because after a moment, he laughed.

"What?" I asked, despite my discomfort.

"Girl, you look like I just murdered your mother."

Relief hit me and it was very welcome. Still, my sarcasm reigned. "I'd welcome that prospect concerning my step-father." He only laughed as he fished out of his pocket a rolled cigarette. I watched him intently as he lit it, as if there was something magical about the way he moved, before introducing myself. "I'm Val, by the way."

"Deacon."

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and favorites are appreciated! :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

Despite the fact that I lived with my mother all my life, I wasn't terribly fond of her. In fact, the only reason I stayed with her was for Delilah's sake. Victoria was my mother, yes, but she would sooner do something foolish like marry a mobster than look after her own kids and ensure their safety. If living with my father would have been an option, I would have gladly taken it. But since Delilah's dad had passed away, there was nowhere else for her to go, and I simply couldn't leave her alone with our mother. I didn't trust her to take care of her the way she needed.

I'd been in the process of writing my father a letter ever since my second day at Allenville. But despite having nothing but time, I seemed unable to find a spare moment to actually put pen to paper. Perhaps I didn't want him to know I had been shipped to a coed facility, or perhaps I thought that if I didn't write him, he would be able to forget that his only daughter was in prison. The last thing I wanted to do was remind him. Besides, he barely ever wrote back.

At the previous facilities I'd been incarcerated at, I didn't have many friends, and the few I had were for protection only. In this kind of volatile environment, it was wise to have someone watching your back. So, despite the fact that I abhorred everything about Allenville, I actively sought out folks I could trust with my life, and surprisingly, I found that some of the people weren't so bad. There was a group that Deacon introduced me to that I liked quite a bit, comprised of some of the funniest folks I've met in all my life. Half an hour with them had me laughing more than I had in the past five years.

Following Deacon's example, I introduced to the group several of the women I knew, one of them at the request of Megget. Apparently he liked blondes. Maxine was the hardest to convince to get her nose out of a book and into our social little entourage. After a bit of probing, I found out that she was so resistant because she found Battle utterly frightening, and rightly so. The man was a monster, a wall of muscle and reeking of dominance. But, after a bit of coaxing, she finally relented, only to find out that her fears had been unjustified. The man was as sweet as pie, to her especially.

While most of the group took to me, not everyone did. There was one man who had consistently given me rather coarse looks, and his name was Torres. Deacon told me that I may have some trouble with him because Vasquez was his brother. Whether he meant by blood or by oath, I wasn't sure, but I wasn't necessarily keen on finding out. But judging by the looks he gave me, it wasn't a stretch to assume that Vasquez and Torres had been having story time about yours truly.

My biggest annoyance actually came from a little gnome named Unger, a man with a wicked tongue who, frankly, made me cringe. He wasn't particularly welcome amongst that clique of merry convicts, and I found out from Paul that they suspected he was responsible for the burn scars on Caretaker's face. Unfortunately, the guards were crooked, Unger was their eye inside, and no one could prove that Unger was at fault. I was told to keep my eye on him when he was around, and to be careful what I said to him, because it would more than likely find its way back to the guards, misconstrued to fit whatever agenda they were formulating.

And I wasn't the only one who was having problems with Unger. He'd been harassing many of the women, both in my clique and out, physically and verbally. Most of the guys who I had been associating became protective of the ladies. From the looks of things, it was the same story in other groups. But there were a few girls who were horribly shy, some who were horribly hostile and refused to admit they needed or wanted protection from men, and some who were so naïve to this whole prison ordeal that they didn't know what to do. Unger targeted these women, the loners, most of all. It was disgusting.

I had been advised not to walk anywhere alone, by Paul, Deacon, and even one of the nicer guards, but apparently I don't listen too well. It had been my sixth day there and I had just been issued my detail so I was reporting to the kitchen, my blood practically boiling in my veins. We had been told a few days after arrival that our jobs would be issued dependant on skill and experience. So none of this made sense considering I didn't have even the slightest comprehension of how to cook. Turns out, they wanted me to wash the dishes, not make the food. Still, I wasn't fond of the idea.

However, regardless of my anger toward the situation, I did what I was told. There was heightened security in the kitchen because of the use of knives and stove burners, but I was back in the washroom, separated from the kitchen by a swinging door with one small, round window on it. It afforded me a shred of solitude that I was grateful for, but that, of course, didn't last long as Unger came back into the wash room unannounced and without reason.

When I caught a glimpse of him, he was staring at me, a very scrutinizing stare, long and drawn out to the point of being rude. Then again, a lot of the men in this prison were not keen on subtlety nor did they pick up on social cues, and since we women arrived, their gawking had kicked into overdrive. But Unger was actually beginning to creep me out, so I stopped what I was doing and took my dish gloves off, turning toward him in case he was about to pull something.

"Word is you killed a few people," he said, drawing out the words unnecessarily, a ghost of a smile on his face.

There was a small stack of dirty trays in his arms, and he discarded them into the sink unceremoniously, causing a great clatter that made me jump ever so slightly. I thought that might be all he'd come in there to do, that he would leave and go back from where he came, but he didn't move away from me. So, I took a step back, putting a little bit of space in between us. I wasn't comfortable being any closer to him than I had to be, made possible by the utter creepiness her emanated.

"Haven't we all?" I asked monotonously.

"Yeah, but not like you, though. I heard you was in with the mob. I was in a gang out in California," he said as if this would somehow appeal to me. All I did was roll my eyes at him and turn back to the sink.

"How nice," I replied with mock interest.

"I never shot any kids, though," he said, causing me to freeze, my blood having gone cold. Apparently someone had loose lips, or this little snake of a man had been eavesdropping. Either way, this was now a problem - Unger wasn't the type that was above using that information to get what he wanted. And for the first time since being in Allenville, I felt real fear. If that information spread, I was as good as dead.

I had to force myself to keep scrubbing, to make it seem as if I had been unfazed by his words, but we both knew he'd seen me blanch. Hell, a blind man could see the tension in my shoulders and arms. Unger continued talking, but I tuned him out, having to bite my bottom lip to keep from lashing out.

That was my weakness. Although I couldn't remember what had really happened, I knew that two of those nine hostages were children, both under the age of nine. Two others were also women, something else that bugged me constantly, especially when I laid down to sleep at night. I had nightmares about the ordeal almost nightly, and I had to tell myself that everything I saw in my dreams was fabricated by my subconscious just so I didn't go crazy. The sight of those children, bloodied and lifeless, terrified me more than anything I have ever been faced with in my life. Despite not remembering killing them, despite truly believing that I didn't, I did remember their faces, and they haunted me.

† † †

It didn't take long for me to find out that the one gratifying hit I had landed on Knauer after my little cell block tango had its consequences. When I wasn't in the kitchen, I was ordered back to my cell, where I sat with absolutely nothing to do. And I wasn't allowed access to the library during my restriction, so I had nothing to read, either. But, as I should have expected, a few days into this little arrangement, two guards I hadn't previously been associated with came to get me. Their uniforms read Dunham and Lambert. They were both assholes.

At first, when they led me to the infirmary, I was under the impression that my day wasn't going to be too horrible. The nurse greeted me kindly and was exceptionally gentle while cleaning my stitches. All the while, I could see Dunham by the door, a mischievous smirk on his face. He knew something I didn't, and the amusement it was bringing him made dread grow within me.

On my way from the infirmary to the kitchen, my two lovely escorts took a detour, and I caught on quickly that we were not going to the mess hall like I originally thought. And I began to worry when we exited out of the building and they began leading me away from the prison. My senses zeroed in on the hotboxes up ahead, those lovely contraptions that Paul and Deacon had both warned me about. For some reason, hearing the threat of it from Knauer's own lips did not seem real until that moment. My mind screamed at me to try and run from the guards, but they must have read my thoughts because Dunham grabbed my arm so that I couldn't get away.

After they shoved me callously into one of the empty boxes and left me to myself, I must have let loose every profane word I had ever heard in my life. I couldn't have been in there any longer than an hour before I felt like I was going to die. Dunham had said I would be in there a week and I honestly didn't know that I could survive. I was from Florida, I knew what heat was, but Florida had trees. This shit-hole did not. There was nothing between the sun and I but a few planks of wood.

Before the night fell, I had removed every article of clothing I had on, with the exception of my underwear. I even took off my bra. And I made an impromptu hair-tie out of my white tank top that, although thin, proved to be a huge nuisance to me courtesy of the heat. I had always loved my hair, I let it lie a bit longer than my shoulder blades, but at that moment, I wanted to rip it all out.

A few days into my hellish little adventure, I got my period, which was just lovely. The guards didn't bring me sufficient water or even slightly decent food, so there was no way they were going to bring me any feminine items. Besides, whenever they came around, I was always too disoriented to speak, so I couldn't ask even if I wanted to try.

At one point, the heat had gotten so bad, I was actually cold. I don't know why or how, but I was shivering. Such is something I know now to be a symptom of an ensuing heat stroke. I suffered nearly unbearable muscle cramps in my thighs, either from the heat or the lack of space within the hotbox, I'm not sure which, if not both. But through it all, I refused to eat. I drank, but didn't eat.

After five days or so, I lost consciousness. I don't remember much, only that I had been hauled out of the hotbox in all of my nearly stark-naked glory in the arms of someone in uniform. When I came to in the infirmary, the lights blinded me painfully. I looked around but saw no one. Or maybe I did and my blurred vision and confusion just wouldn't allow me to register them. I tried to sit up, but found myself weighed down by many heavy, cool, wet towels. They were placed on my face, chest, neck, and most of my torso, as well as my limbs. I also saw an IV running from the back of my hand.

I tried to speak, to call out to anyone that was around to hear me, but my voice just came out as a weak moan. Someone did respond, though. And to be honest, I was not expecting to see the person I did standing over me, but I was too out of it to care or really try to make sense of it. Captain Knauer was above me, and I heard him say something, but I couldn't make it out; his voice was so distant, muffled, as if he were speaking to me through a brick wall. I saw his arm reach out to me, I thought to strike me, but he moved the cloth back onto my forehead as it began sliding off. It didn't faze me then, but I closed my eyes and fell asleep with the last image in my mind being the sight of blood on Knauer's uniform.

Three days passed while I was in the infirmary and the first time the nurse forced me to eat something solid, I ended up vomiting. Unfortunately for me, I vomited on the boots of Dunham. He was not happy, but he remained silent about it after he cleaned it off and stood near the door, just in case the nurse needed him again. By the way he was glaring at me, I knew once I had regained my strength, I was definitely going to pay for that.

The next day, the nurse deemed me fit for my previous activities. Dunham and another guard I hadn't really been acquainted with before took me back to my cell, but they weren't aggressive like I thought they would be. Of course, my 'previous activities' involved sitting in my cell, so that's exactly what I was going to do.

I slept through that first day, waking when the horn sounded that it was lights out. The ceiling and Maxine's breathing were all that kept me company that night until a few hours before sunrise, when I finally fell back into sleep. Better I had stayed awake. When I closed my eyes, I was disturbed by images of the night those nine died. As I said before, I don't remember it, but my dreams tend to fill in the blanks for me, based on the crime scene re-enactment that had been presented at my trial.

Relief washed over my cold sweat-covered body when I jerked awake from hearing my name being yelled mercilessly loud in my ear. Fucking Dunham. But if it weren't for him, I'd still be in my own little horror film.

"Let's go, sweetheart," he said as he stood in the doorway to my cell. Maxine had already filed out, and as I looked beyond him, I could see the other inmates out in the corridor waiting on me. They couldn't go anywhere until we all went somewhere, so I mustered up the energy to get out of my bunk. I grumbled as I turned my back to Dunham and changed my clothes; he didn't turn away or leave, knowing damn well that I had to get dressed, and it pissed me off when I heard him whistle at me.

Directly after breakfast, I found myself back in the kitchen. No one bothered me, even though there had been another washer added to the mix in my absence. Although there were a few people around me and they were conversing with one another, I was silent and staring off at the wall as I absent-mindedly scrubbed a pan, thinking. For a reason I couldn't understand then, all I could think about was Knauer. And the more I thought about him, the more I realized that every time I was in the corridors, I hoped I would see him. Every time a group of guards patrolled, I hoped he would be among them. I had no idea what came over me, and I quickly attributed it to the heat having done something to my head. Still, the fact that I hadn't seen the captain in days disappointed me.

I had tried to write my father all the rest of that day, but I failed miserably as my thoughts were consumed with Captain Knauer. Maxine came to our cell not long after lunch, and she was painfully quiet. Had I not seen the book in her hands trembling, I would have thought nothing of it, but she was fidgety, so it wasn't so easy to ignore. When I inquired if she was alright, she just nodded quickly but she didn't look me in the eye. She thought I was writing after awhile, but I was actually listening and throughout the near hour we were in there together, I didn't hear her turn a page once.

Again, I asked her what was up. Finally, she told me, or at least she started to.

"Vasquez, he said you, um…"

"What about him?" I asked in distaste, not liking that she had any association with him. She was a vulnerable person, at least she seemed to be, so I was pissed that he had approached her at all.

"He told me to tell you, and I don't want to, but he said he'd hurt me if I didn't, and there were a few girls who got hurt while you were gone, and I don't know really how to-."

"What did he say?" I inquired impatiently, cutting off her rambling.

"He said that you were gonna give him what he wants or else… or else he would take it. And that he's going to punish you… for what you did." No doubt 'what I did' meant causing Deacon to hit him during our first tussle. It was Vasquez's fault, really, but I doubt I could reason with that prick.

Maxine winced at the anger on my face. The fact that he didn't come to me and say his words to my face was pure cowardice in my opinion. Instead, he wanted to scare the life out of Maxine, a quiet little mouse, and threaten her if she didn't threaten me for him. What a pussy. Undoubtedly, when I went to see him about this, his whole posse would be there, testament that he couldn't face me on his own. I wondered if he would comply with my wishes to deal with him one-on-one, or if there was something about little ole me that frightened him. What a laugh.

Something troubled me about Maxine's words, though. She said some girls were hurt during my little sabbatical. I knew it had nothing to do with my absence directly, as I was no keeper of the peace, but apparently Vasquez was making it out to be my fault.

"Who was hurt? What did they do?" I inquired suddenly.

"I don't know, a few girls. A few of Vasquez's guys tried us, but Battle and Deacon and Turley, they wouldn't let them. But the ones that keep to themselves, they hurt them, raped them. One girl's got a broken collarbone."

You know, from the moment you hear 'coed' and 'maximum security penitentiary' in the same sentence, the first thought that comes to mind is rape. Sure, not all of the convicts are slimy child molesters and rapists, but they're all human. Besides, rape is a powerful tool in prison, a tool that can be used to establish who's top dog. And now with women in their midst, it was a field day, a few stray cats in a sea of vicious dogs who don't stand much of a chance of surival. What was a bit muddling, though, was that they had waited so long. I would have thought that after the first day, we'd all end up in the infirmary with battered bodies and torn virtues.

Well, Vasquez hadn't waited so long to cop a feel, but that didn't count. That was minor and I'm mildly tolerant. However, injuries and rape, in numbers to top it all off, were not minor.

I am only so tolerant.

**_A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated :) (Also, I'm terribly sorry about the incredibly long wait!)_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

One learns many valuable lessons in prison. Lesson number one: don't talk shit unless you are ready and willing to back it up. On a side note, it's beneficial to have a posse willing to help you back it up in the event things get out of hand. Lesson two: tread carefully. Just because you want something on someone else's turf does not mean you have the right to attempt taking it. Doing so might get you killed. Lesson three: make peace with at least one guard who has a pair; the puny, just-hired trembling poodle will get you nowhere, especially when you have trouble with someone who more closely resembles a Redwood than a man. Not that I would know much about that last one considering I've only been in women's prisons. Well, until now, that is.

Vasquez must not have been in attendance the day lesson two was taught. Not that I was anyone of significance, not that I thought I could take him in any way, shape, or form, but I damn sure could try. I didn't know for certain what Maxine spoke of when she said that I was going to give him 'what he wanted', but I had a pretty good idea. Then again, just because he and his boys had raped others didn't mean that's what he wanted from me.

To a person uneducated on the matter, rape is not always about sexual gratification. Because of the lack of 'contact' convicts have, you would think it would be predominantly about the release of pent up arousal, but it's not, at least not that I have gathered. You see, inside prison, just like high school, there are cliques. If one person from one clique, whether they're acting for themselves or for the entire group, decides to wrong someone in another clique, hell ensues. And wronging someone isn't always a big matter; hold a glance a second too long with an enemy, and you might as well ready yourself for battle.

These types of 'wrongs' account for a lot of rapes. It's about power and control and showing the person you're taking like a woman that any time he decides it's a good idea to cross you, he should think twice. I speak from personal experience on this one. Allow me to share with you my very first day in a state correctional facility.

At the time, I was 22 and had just come from the county jail, escorted on a bus full of repeat offenders; I was the only 'virgin', so to speak. Before that point, if you discount the crash in Drago's Cobra, I had never been in trouble with the law; Drago had friends in very high places, and so he had the power to have our indiscretions handled with discretion. Such privilege had me spoiled and I was incredibly fearful as I was about to serve three life terms for the murder of nine individuals. Because of the extent of my offenses, because of my lack of a confession before and during the trial, my sentence was worse than it otherwise would have been. And because of the rather lengthy sentence I was about to have thrown on me, the judge decided it was best to just skip to a maximum security prison, lest I harm someone else in a lighter facility. Sure, I had been evaluated by four different shrinks during the trial and they all deemed me competent, sane, and remorseful, but apparently some viewed me as unstable, not that I could blame them given the evidence.

Anyway, I digress. The day I stepped off of the bus onto the yard of what I thought would be my home for life, I committed a wrong unknowingly. The bus had arrived early morning so by the time everything had been worked out, by the time I had been checked in and was issued a bunk and all of the necessities, it was time for lunch. Because I was so young and afraid, because I was new to it all, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I heard catcalls all through the morning as I was being ushered here and there, having cavity checks, getting shots and vaccines, being thrown into my cell with a very cranky woman. But there were only whispers and points and stares in the cafeteria because the guards didn't like a whole lot of racket.

Someone tripped me, which sent my food and myself flying into the back of a not-too-friendly woman, one who promptly made sure I kept one foot in front of the other in the future. Such a wrong wasn't my fault, and this woman knew it by the snickers of those who had tripped me, yet the principle of it, the unwritten rules, made sure that I knew not to cross her. I left that cafeteria with a concussion and was kept in protective custody for four weeks.

Frivolous things can and will get your ass kicked, even if they're not your fault, and they're made worse when you try to place the blame on someone else, guilty or not. And women are no different than men. Sure, there are a lot of innocents, in male or female facilities, but there are a lot of guilty and crazy ones as well. I know it sounds strange, but this coed program is almost a breath of fresh air from all of the psychotic bitches in my last few slams. Almost. Vasquez was making it difficult, though, much to my chagrin. A part of me wanted to go back in time and just let him grab my ass, as it would have been much easier than having him and his associates as enemies for life, but the other part of me slapped me in the face and yelled at how stupid I was being for even thinking that was an option. I refused to be anyone's bitch. I was going to be a prisoner every morning I opened my eyes for the entirety of my life, and that was the last thing I wanted. Because word gets around; you're no longer just one person's bitch, but anyone who can hold you down and have their way with you, and not just sexually. Sure, that was one of the perks, but you were also forced to do much more morally unjustifiable things. I had seen it happen many times and I will not go that route, not without a damn good fight.

† † †

Nothing of significance occurred after that, not for a little over a week. Possibly the only positive thing that had happened was I was able to have my stitches removed. I was still being escorted around like a child by Knauer's horde, yet he himself hadn't come into contact with me at all. There was an instance, however, a few days before, when he passed Dunham, Malloy, and myself in the hallway and despite those uncomfortably dark sunglasses he wore, I knew he was watching me. My stomach clenched the minute I saw him, and I suddenly felt very self conscious, though I couldn't tell you why. And for some strange reason, being with the two guards I was with made me feel much more secure than if I had been alone with the captain. It was perplexing, really. But the moment passed just as he did, just as me and the other guards rounded a corner to the mess hall, and I was able to let go of the breath I'd been holding.

The harassment from Vasquez's men hadn't stopped. Although I had yet to hear from him or see him one-on-one, I knew it was only a matter of time before he made his move on me. Whenever Knauer decided my time with the guards was up was the time the little bit of safety I had with them would vanish. I also had a feeling that there was still more punishment coming my way from both Dunham and Knauer. I suppose I could complain about my escorts, but they were the only things keeping me safe as it sat now.

For a reason unbeknownst to me, my issue was changed. I was ushered to the library after lunch as opposed to staying in the kitchen and cleaning. Thank God. Any more time spent with Unger and I swear I might have stabbed him in the neck with a meat thermometer. Megget worked in the library which was quite fine with me, and Deacon and Cheeseburger Eddie were there reading, so I was completely and utterly thankful that I would be somewhere I could talk to someone I knew as opposed to being hounded by that acid-tongued little elf. I was even more surprised that the guards left me there without any supervision, unlike in the kitchen. I wondered for a moment why Knauer had allowed it considering I thought he would have me paying for my misdeeds for quite awhile. I suppose I was wrong. I don't think Dunham was too happy about it, however; he had yet to repay me for barfing on his lovely boots.

I was shocked to learn that Allenville's library was so extensive. I expected some half-assed attempt with thrift store books about fly-fishing and the Hardy Boys. Hardly. The fact that it was so organized, something I chalked up to being Megget's doing, and something he was as equally proud of, totally took me aback. Never have I been a diligent reader, but I knew this place would soon be my friend, especially since the recreational activities that other, more up-to-date prisons had were not offered here. Allenville was heavy on sports, not that there was anything wrong with that, but all in all sports weren't really my cup of tea, especially since I still felt a little off from that hotbox incident.

I was utterly thankful that the guards were not in the library because Eddie had me laughing so hard it's a wonder I didn't die from the inability to breathe. Despite the light-heartedness of the situation that I was finally able to indulge in, Deacon looked horribly troubled. And I wasn't sure why, either, as I hadn't had much leisure time since the beginning of Knauer's 'punishment' to keep up-to-date with things. When Eddie went to the restroom, though, Deacon bade me sit with him at the table, and he put his book down, looking to me quite solemnly. Something was wrong and I was about to find out.

"Unger's been running his mouth about you," he said as quietly as possible, loudly enough that I could hear him while others couldn't, especially Megget. By this time, there were several more inmates in there, male and female, making Deacon more cautious of being overheard.

"And?" I asked reluctantly, not at all wanting to know. I had a feeling that I already did.

"He's been letting everyone know about your offenses." The tone of his voice put me on guard. Deacon didn't look at me when he said it, and this told me that whatever Unger had said, he believed. Now, as I've said before, I don't remember the happenings that are logged in my file, so there is a part of me that believes I'm still innocent, even after all of these years. But Deacon clearly didn't believe I was innocent. And since Unger had zero qualms reiterating that I had allegedly killed children…well, let's just say everyone probably knew about it. Although Deacon wasn't outwardly expressing his anger or disgust at the prospect of me being such a horrible person, I knew he was thinking it.

Finally, he looked at me very hesitantly. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him that whatever he heard Unger say was a lie, even if I myself didn't know that it was, but I found myself at a loss for what to say. My tongue tripped on my words and if I had previously wanted to lie and tell him that I was as angelic as they come, that was no longer an option. Deacon knew by the look on my face, by the way my head hung and my eyes avoided his, that 'I didn't do it' just wouldn't cut it.

Before I could attempt to explain myself, he stood and left the table. Obviously, he had found his answer within my reaction and he didn't like it. I couldn't bring myself to look over my shoulder at him as he left the library and I had to force myself not to cry. Not because of Deacon and not because of what would happen to me when more people found out, but because what I was convicted of could very well be the cold, hard truth. It was futile to continue telling myself I was a saint, even if the person I was before wouldn't have hurt a fly. After all, saints don't wear prison jumpsuits.

The one time I wished I had an escort was at that moment. The guards had left me alone in the library without their watchful eyes and as I forlornly made my way back to my cell, I prayed that no one I encountered had the knowledge that Deacon or Unger had. If they did, I could count myself dead. Inmate #6491-65 would cease to exist. Protective custody seemed really good right about now.

Speaking of which, there are several reasons for protective custody. You have your snitches, your ex-criminal justice members such a cops, lawyers, FBI agents, you name it. But the biggest one of all, and this is a very big one, not to mention very prominent, are those that involve children in their crimes. If you beat a child, you tend to go to protective custody. If you lead a child down the wrong path by dealing them drugs or getting them involved in your scummy life, you tend to go to protective custody. However, if you rape, molest, or murder a child, your ass goes directly to protective custody without passing go. And the younger your victims are, the less of a life span you have. The reason? No matter how sick and twisted these inmates can be, no matter how absolutely violent they are, they will _not_ tolerate such crimes. Even they have boundaries, and if you overstep them, they will surely kill you within seconds of entering their prison or the moment they find out just what it is you've done.

As I said before, I had been in protective custody, but only once. Other than that little incident, I never needed to be in there. But coming to Allenville proved to be problematic for me because someone had loose lips. Either the warden didn't think my death at the hands of unhappy inmates was substantial, or he thought that my wrongdoings wouldn't be leaked. When Unger first let me know that he knew about the crimes that landed me in prison, it should have lit a fire under my ass to request protective custody immediately. It wouldn't do any good to request it now, though. The only way to get to the warden was to go through the guards, and I had a feeling Knauer had instilled in them his hate for me. Fucking great. I was screwed.

As fate would have it, my end didn't come during my trek to my four by eight which, at that point, seemed like my safe haven. Instead, I arrived there safe and sound, though my heart felt as if it were going to explode from anxiety. I felt as if someone had been following me, as if the eyes of every inmate I passed were piercing through me, but it was just paranoia. In reality, no one seemed to notice me much. That is, all but a strange woman I had only noticed on the bus-ride to Allenville.

I didn't know her, at least not until I found her inside of my cell. The sound of her crying echoed out into the corridor, despite the noises of others going about their business, and I almost turned around and went the other way, fearing it was bait. There was only one way in and out of those cells, after all, and if someone pulled me in, it was over. But instead, I cautiously approached, peering through the bars at the woman sitting on Maxine's mattress. Maxine was beside her, rubbing the palm of her hand up and down her back in a comforting fashion. When the latter spotted me, her face seemed a bit surprised; she looked as if she had been caught in the middle of some unsavory act and I was there to berate her.

With a furrowed brow, I asked what was wrong, and the second my voice penetrated the air, the woman on the bed gasped and looked up at me, unaware that she had an audience. She looked frightened, as well she should be in this shit hole, but it would be evident to anyone with eyes, as it was to me, that the environment wasn't what bothered her. I was.

Maxine looked at the woman cautiously, and in turn she nodded her head imperceptibly, silently begging Maxine not to answer my question. Still, I asked again. If it was a petty matter, then she wouldn't be shedding tears, and in mine and Maxine's cell of all places.

"This is Crystal," Maxine finally said. "Vasquez and his guys attacked her this morning."

"And it's your fault!" she shouted at me quickly, succumbing further into her tears as her face fell into her hands. Maxine winced at her outburst and I became very confused momentarily. Then it dawned on me. Weeks ago Vasquez had threatened Maxine if she didn't do something as simple as deliver to me a message. And Crystal clearly thought I was at fault for her run-in with that asshole.

"How is it my fault?" I asked incredulously. I didn't like being accused and it put me on the defensive immediately, but part of me realized it could very well be the truth.

"I don't know. But he told me to come show you what he was going to do to you," she said, pointing dramatically to her swollen eye, her tone one of annoyance. She wasn't pleased with me, which was blatant, yet she didn't even know me. I wondered why no one else had had this problem.

Then it dawned me that perhaps I had been in denial. Or perhaps no one had the audacity to come to me and tell me that they had suffered in my name. But the attacks that Maxine mentioned while I was in the hotbox now made me think there was a connection, even if she had assured me that there wasn't one when I initially questioned it.

Perhaps Vasquez thought I would 'report' to him to 'give him what he wanted', and until then, I was willing to bet the price for not coming forward was hurting random people. All he had to do was tell me straight the price for not obeying him and I would have found another way to… well, elude him. Eventually, he would come for me, but at what cost? Probably the battered bodies of everyone I had arrived at Allenville with. And if I didn't want to be murdered in my sleep by ruthless, bitter, female convicts who had suffered for my one mistake, one I wasn't at fault for, I had to find a way to rectify this, and quickly.

Before Crystal had left, I tried to apologize as well as let her know I would work this all out. She told me to go fuck myself, so I had a feeling she and I were not going to be very friendly with one another in the future. My mind wandered back to Deacon as I got up into my bunk and I wondered if he would permanently repel from me, taking everyone else with him. I hoped that whatever happened, they could have faith in my innocence, but I realized that since they didn't know me well, they had no reason to believe in me. I hadn't been at Allenville long enough to create bonds with them that could withstand a tarnished reputation and if they continued to befriend me, it would only mean trouble for them. They didn't need it, just like they didn't need me. Truly, if Deacon or Megget or Crewe never spoke to me again, I wouldn't blame them. And if they decided to help Vasquez carry out whatever punishment he had for me, I wouldn't be surprised.

† † †

I finally found the courage to write my father and let him know where I was and what I was doing. He was alerted, naturally, about my transfer to Allenville, but he knew how reluctant I was to speak to him because of the shame of how my life had turned out. He'd only visited me once, and I had foolishly accepted his desire to do so, otherwise he would have been denied access. Seeing him was so overwhelming that I ended up having him sent away after a short while. I wrote him later, begging him to forgive me and telling him that it wasn't his fault, only that I felt bad that he had to see me like that. There would be no father-daughter bonding ever again that wasn't under the watchful eyes of two or more correctional officers.

My letter to my father was over three pages long, telling him about the transfer, about the coed program, about the friends I had made-friends being Maxine and Deacon-even if we weren't on good terms currently. But I left out the hatred I had provoked from Vasquez, the guards, and now some of the injured females. I don't want my father to worry more than he already does, so I tell him just a bit shy of everything he needs to know. Come to think of it, I probably should have lied about the coed program, too.

I was on my way back to my cell from dropping off the letter to be mailed, my head down and my arms folded tightly across my chest. When the guards had dumped me off at the library, they had unofficially stopped babysitting me. The fear I felt was astronomical, and I was sure my years in prison were going to decrease drastically due to my heart being overworked so much. Even in my cell I didn't feel safe. Because we were in such an old prison, the cell doors were locked manually, and the guards made their rounds to do this only at night. It was currently half past eleven in the morning. I had a long way to go before I would feel safe.

As if my thoughts materialized in front of me, Vasquez and three of his men rounded a corner talking amongst themselves, coming my way. I froze and quickly turned my back, going in the opposite direction, but one of his friends saw me before I had a chance to elude them. Despite my pace quickening considerably, they caught up to me. My breath whooshed out of me as my arm was grabbed and I was whipped around violently to face them, and I began to tremble. I made to scream but Vasquez's hand covered my mouth forcibly while I was drug back around the corner they had just come from. Between the three of them, getting me to a semi-secluded corridor was a simple task. For me, however, it was a total nightmare.

When I was upright again and Vasquez removed his hand, I tried both to run and to scream. I was promptly punched in the stomach by one of his comrades which more than shut me up. I began to slide down the wall in pain, not wanting to support my own weight, but I was drug back up by Vasquez's large, strong hand around my neck; my feet nearly came off of the ground.

"Alone at last, you puta. I've been waiting for this…," Vasquez said in a venomous tone before he invaded my personal space and began to smell me from the lowest part of my neck all the way up to my hair. His grip halted on my neck and he came to stand closely, pinning me to the cold wall with his arm. Meanwhile, his other hand fisted gently in my hair. Although his sudden gentleness had shocked me, I was certain that any moment now, I was going to be punched or kicked out of my high hopes.

He whispered something into my ear in Spanish, something I didn't understand because of my ignorance to foreign languages. One of his friends snickered, and the way the other looked at me, I felt as if I was a piece of meat. I shuddered involuntarily beneath Vasquez, causing my chest to brush against him, and I knew he took pleasure in knowing he frightened me so intensely. I had to force myself to breathe normally so I didn't hyperventilate, but I was so scared it was nearly impossible.

"You know what I want from you, and I could take it right now. But I want you to give it to me." He moved his mouth from near my ear so that he could look in my eyes and I was sure he saw how astonished I was.

"You can burn in hell, asshole. I'm not giving you shit."

Within a heartbeat, one my heart surely skipped, I found my wrists pinned to the wall on either side of me and Vasquez's body pressed so close to me I wondered if I could breathe. It was probably a good thing I was holding my breath.

Once more, he whispered to me what he wanted me to know. "If you don't give it to me, I'll break every bitch's neck in this joint until you do. You want that?"

I couldn't speak from the shock. It was now blatantly clear that the injuries the women sustained, at the hands of Vasquez, were indeed my fault. And every injury henceforth would also be my fault. The problem was, even if I submitted to the man in front of me, I would be no better off. Hardly any sleep was had the night before as I stayed up and thought, finally coming to the conclusion that I was a dead woman no matter what. Either irate females would kill me to ease their own pain, appalled inmates who had finally caught word of my past would not only kill me but torture me first so they felt they had done some justice, or Vasquez would kill me for not doing what he wanted. And then there was a small chance the guards would get out of hand when they beat me… the possibilities were endless, it seemed. My future was dismal and I could do nothing about it. I could, however, choose how I wanted to go down; the last thing I wanted was to die without my dignity in tact, so I subconsciously checked Vasquez off of the list. But I had to deal with him right at this moment, so I played along.

"No," I answered shakily.

"Good. And if you even think about going into PC… it will only be worse for you when you get out. That is if I don't come in there to fuck you first."

Vasquez released me abruptly, looking me up and down with a sinister grin. His buddies followed suit. He pursed his lips in a kiss and winked at me, knowing it would make my skin crawl. My hands were braced against the wall as if I was trying, in vain, to sink into the old blocks, and they all laughed at my discomfort before turning and walking away. Before they rounded the corner, Vasquez shot me one last look that made sure I knew of the evil behind his eyes and in his heart.

I sank to the floor almost immediately, unable to cry and unable to move. I was so petrified of getting to my feet and finding some place more safe that I literally felt rooted to the ground. There was no one around and I shivered and trembled.

After what seemed to be an eternity, after the lunch horn had sounded, I ran as fast as I could to my cell. Instead of taking my place in my bunk, I hunched in the corner near the toilet at the end of Maxine's mattress, hoping the shadow and the furniture would obscure me from any passing eyes should they be looking for me. I honestly don't know why I was so afraid, as the night before I had seemingly come to terms with my inevitable fate… and it seemed as if Vasquez wasn't really going to kill me, but rather rape me and make me do his bidding. I had a feeling he had no qualms with hurting anyone and everyone in an effort to get me to do what he wanted with no hesitation. He could have easily raped me in the hallway earlier, especially since he had two men there to hold me down if I gave up a fight, but he didn't. Instead, he wanted to see my face full of shame, my dignity shattered, and my pride vanish. In other circumstances, I might have felt he was a very clever man. And he was, but I was damning him as much as I possibly could. He had me right where he wanted me, and the only way to get out of that spot was in a body bag.

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! And thanks, as always, for the follows, the reviews, the favorites, etc. You guys rock.**_


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